Danse de la Lune
by TyrannicalTilly
Summary: A veela loses her child, and part of her died with him.  When the opportunity arises to become the mother she was meant to be, she grabs a hold of it and won't let it go, even if it is the most important boy in the wizarding world. Future Harmony.
1. Prologue

Her baby was born cold, stiff. There was nothing to be done: all male Veela are stillborn and have been ever since the race of elegant, ethereal nymphs first stepped out of the deep woods of Olde Britain. The knowledge wracked Claudine. She could hardly take in the sorrowful touch of the wet-nurse on her shoulder, nor the sneer of shame that came over her own mothers immaculate face.

Approximately nine months prior, Claudine had been dancing alone in the moonlight, on the edge of a glade close to her families homestead. Her thin limbs moving with an ecstatic grace as she welcomed the soft drift of the moon in the night sky. This was the Danse De La Lune, performed by Veela annually on the full moon of their birth, which renewed the magical core that infused Veela. Claudine's skin glowed with beauty borrowed from the moon and pledged to her for another year. She was unaware that she was being watched, watched with a hunger that would ensnare her. As her eyes drifted to a close and she was lost in the art of her dance, her predator snuck closer on confident feet. She was caught.

Her escape was made the next morning, but the damage had been done. She could intuitively feel inside her centre the presence of another. Haltingly, begrudgingly at first but with small increments in pace until her belly was well oversized and Claudine had begun to come to terms with her new situation in life, and looked forward to her child. Not that it mattered now, not that any of it had mattered. Her baby was softly wrapped in pure white linen and quietly taken away. She hadn't even been allowed to hold him.  
>The labour had been uneventful, the wet-nurse ever patient and encouraging; until the crucial moment when the child Veela inherits its magic, given by the mother at the moment of birth from her very core. The magic aligned to the male child, and was rejected: the backlash severed the child's frail grasp on life completely and silenced the magical core of the mother.<br>Claudine's body would survive, even with the return of her magic uncertain. But she was broken; the child in her belly had begun to encompass her entire life, now she could hardly grapple with the loss of it, so suddenly, so irreversibly. Too weak to even weep, she stared into nothingness and allowed the despair to claim her completely.

Many miles away, across the Channel and in the stark clean white of St Mungos, a chubby baby with a shock of black hair cried out its first breaths, cradled against the breast of Lily Potter while her bright green eyes were glued to those of her husbands, beaming out his pride.


	2. Grand Theft Potter!

**15 months later...**

A green flash, a woman screamed, and silence. Lily had sacrificed her life for her son, and that protection founded in love had saved the boy from the Killing Curse of Lord Voldemort. It had been decades since the Dark Lord had felt such terror and wrenching pain, and he fled; a shade of his former self. Harry, however, sat in what remained of his cot and wailed. He could not yet comprehend death but still felt a deep and terrible loss in his small and ferociously beating heart.

Hours later, he was picked up by a giant pair of hands that were deceptively gentle, if a little bumbling. Harry was tickled by a great and somewhat wet beard and balanced on the strangers heaving chest. Large, heavy tears continued to spill down into the dark hairy tangle. They were moving now, carefully, out of the house and into the street where a large motorbike was idling on the pavement. In one powerful movement, they were astride the great bike, then they were roaring away into the night sky with Harry tucked tightly amongst a blanket to keep out the chill of the October night. The beard whipped out and behind them, and Harry feel asleep watching the tangle whip about in the currents of the wind.

Claudine had had enough. She had spent the past year away from her homeland of France, in wet busy Britain. In the beginning, the hustle-and-bustle of the country had caught her attention and kept her distracted, convincing her to explore the country and its people despite the almost constant grey skies and the choking smog which settled over everything and dulled out the radiance of the lunar cycle. She had lived in the moment of things, rushing about like a half-drunken nymph. Interacting with both magic and mundane her life had spun around her, faster and faster, until its inevitable need to crash, to stop, to pause and take breath. She had begun to think of France again, to feel she could take on the stresses inherent with her life in that country again. She could never truly be whole again, but she believed she was recovering, she believed she was strong.  
>She was quite wrong.<p>

Still, time for home. Claudine looked up at the moon and willed its power to join hers, with the help of the moon she could fully transfigure into a bird - a swan, of course, and travel lightly over the Channel on swift wings. Alas, the moon was silent in its answer. Though the fault in the connection stemmed directly from her. Her link to Veela magic had not repaired in the fifteen months since its interruption. Instead she walked; muggle transport would suffice her needs, although her gait was marred with sadness.

Her long legs took her quickly into suburbia, and she heard the roar of a motorbike long before she saw it. She also caught sight of the two elderly wizards meeting with and incredibly over-sized man who could only be a half-giant, and her curiosity won out. She crouched behind one of the many white-picket fences encircling the monotonous houses that sat heavily packed together in Little Whinging. She had heard nothing of the alleged death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, had no clue of the importance that small bundle of blankets, that the large man was holding, had in the world of wizards

Concentrating, Claudine could just make out that the witch of the group was speaking – practically yelling in indignation actually, which carried most of her words over to Claudine's hiding spot.  
>"...you can't mean the people who live here? Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. ...got this son — I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets! Harry Potter come and live here?" Claudine was now fully focused on the small party; it was all she could do to prevent her moving closer to hear the conversation in its entirety, as now the white-bearded wizard identified as Dumbledore replied to the witch in a much quieter tone. He then took the small bundle from the great arms of the behemoth and placed it on the doorstep, along with what looked like a letter from his robes chest pocket. The three adults then seemed each lost in contemplation, and for several minutes, none of them stirred. In the distance, an owl hooted, which brought the large one out of his reverie with a heavily-hearted snuffle. After a quick exchange he left on the magical motorcycle, before the witch apparated away, as Dumbledore gently pressed the doorbell to the address.<br>As soon as Claudine heard the second definitive _pop_ that signified a wizard disapparating, she was moving, slinking, up to the doorway. The Veela crouched down, reached out tentatively to move aside a fold of blanket, and gasped.  
>Looking up at her with astonishingly vivid green eyes was a tiny child. His rosy cheeks spoke of health but there was a fresh, ghastly scar etched onto his small forehead. Claudine stared into him, and the torn up remnants of her magic bespoke of intriguing pulses within the child. The first encompassed the entire toddler, it was warm and made Claudine's eyes widen at the strength of the love she felt echoing from it. The other was centred on the ugly wound, Claudine could only half-shudder at the cold, slithering feeling she could pick up from that presence. As she gazed at the boy, something within her was awakening, and she felt the keen of longing once more for her own, tragically lost child. Tears came without warning to the beautiful nymph. She felt wronged, brutally cheated of the joy this boy had obviously brought into a family's life, compared to the cold emptiness that her own had become. Where were the parents now? Claudine tore open the envelope and began to read with an intense ferocity. Half-way through, footsteps echoed within the house – someone was coming to the door! Claudine in her pride would later claim she didn't know what came over her. She would say 'I must not have been thinking straight' but what made her close her arms around the small bundle and stride off down the street , and what had been awakening deep in her chest, had been a complete and utter, unexplainable but no less real, love for the child whose name was Harry Potter.<p> 


	3. Hello, Flutterwing

It had been a _hell_ of a month. The British wizarding world had finally found them. It had taken the incompetent fools at the Ministry two years. Incredible! Warning had come via owl-post, to the quaint forest of Passerelle Pont where Claudine had brought Harry. Nestled within, was the beautiful and mostly Veela-populated village of Vieux Chênes. Claudine had lived here throughout her childhood, and she'd had this place in mind during her pregnancy as the only place where she could happily raise a child. It was, then, completely natural to bring the toddler wizard here. Acceptance had come slowly, and Harry had been introduced to several other veela children, and had shyly started to make friends among them.

They had taken up residence in a small cottage near Claudine's childhood home, and although it was not grand, it suited the tiny family perfectly. The kitchen and dining room were combined, full of pastel yellows and greens and silly, ruffled curtains. There were two bedrooms, a master and guest room, with the master being decorated largely in soft blue, and the guestroom a slightly horrifying shade of pink. The rent was a fair price, and Claudine had found part-time work at a quaint chocolatiers in the neighbouring muggle town, where she was allowed to bring Harry in with her. The smiling old man who owned the shop adored him. She'd wondered later if that was the reason why he'd decided to hire her.

She settled into the small house well, adding her feminine touch to wherever was needed, and tried to not let her taste for aesthetics twist the house too artistically to still be homely. The pink room had to be changed almost immediately, however. She had no love for the colour herself and wanted Harry to pick out his own room colour later, when he was older. She firmly believed that a child's room should be their own space, a refuge. It needed to be more than just a place to store things and for them to sleep in at night, it had to support their personality and reflect their own choices and tastes. For now, a dull cream would be acceptable until Harry became old enough to move out of the crib in her room to a bed in the second. When not redecorating, working or looking after the needs of an energetic toddler, Claudine began to take an interest in magical law. From the moment her eyes locked with Harrys she had known that she would be his mother, but understood the precarious position in which they were both placed currently – she had no legal authentication of guardianship. Many nights were spent in quiet contemplation with Claudines nose in a law book and Harry slumbering on her lap.

She had started with locating a copy of the Potter family's will, it was with a small surge of hope that she realised that all of the currently listed candidates were unfit for the role. There was no mention of Harry's extended family, the Dursleys of ever being suggested for potential guardians. Puzzling, due to the 'adoption' letter Harry had on him when he was left the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive. In fact, all the names that were on the list were all completely unsuitable: from criminals, to the already dead, to even a disgraced werewolf. Hope had blossomed.

This could be her solution. After a short correspondence with the Dursley family, she attained written proof of their disinclination to raise the boy themselves. This officially made Harry an orphan, able to be adopted. She sent this, along with completed adoption papers to (what she considered a stroke of genius) the orphanage associations in France, and not the U.K; stating her belief of his increased protection away from the last known location of the Dark Lord who had murdered his real family. She also played on the chance that the French Magical Government, Le Forum de la Magie would greedily snap up the chance to have the now famous and rumoured very powerful baby-wizard grow up in their own country, as a French citizen, and not in Britain. She mentioned nothing of her being a Veela, but included a photograph of her with Harry held softly in her arms. This way she could never be accused of hiding her heritage, and possibly appeal favour from whatever reviewer that was dealing with this case.

It had worked. A few months later she had been officially installed as the step-in guardian for him. It had felt so wonderful, Claudine felt like she could let out a breath she'd been holding for months, that their lives could now continue. It had, quietly, for almost two years, until that owl had arrived. It sat quietly outside on a low branch of a nearby tree, until she had felt his presence and went to the window to let him in. Owls were fellow creatures of the moon, and unspoken bonds existed between them and the Veela. The owl announced himself with a knowing stare as Flutterwing. The Veela could not understand the myriad of squawks the birds made, he did not 'tell' her his name, it was more that the owl would Incline to the Veela what it meant, and the Veela learned over time how to interpret the combination of tangled thoughts, smells and wild emotions the birds hard running through them, as impulsions. From these, they could often deduce what they meant. He held himself proudly – a messenger for the Ministry of Magic was no common job for an owl, and he had been chosen specifically for his speed in flight. Claudine had smiled at this, but her heart had almost frozen in panic. She inclined her head politely towards him, asking his permission for the mail he carried. Flutterwing puffed out his chest feathers and elegantly held his leg out for her. With fingers that trembled slightly, she undid the letter and her fears were confirmed.

_Dear Madame,_

_It has come to the attention of the Ministry of Magic that you are illegally in possession of one Harry James Potter, son of the late James and Lily Potter, and defeater of the Dark Lord. A team of elite Aurors have been dispatched to your location and will be arriving soon to ensure the safe return of the child. You will be arrested for his kidnap, and brought to justice._

_Sincerely,_

_Gabby Patheleon,  
>Ministry of Magic,<br>Investigations Dept._

She ran for Harry even as she heard shouts and 'pops' outside the house. She held him tightly to her breast and panicked. She had nowhere to run, and no defence. Peeking through the ridiculous curtains, she saw them approach the house, her heart hammered harder with every step closer they took. They had their wands raised in unison and tears rose unbidden to Claudine's eyes. She couldn't look away from the line of imposing wizards. They lifted their wands higher and blasted the door of the small cottage into pieces. Claudine screamed and clutched a now bawling Harry tighter, sheltering him from the threat of any flying pieces of wood and sinking to the floor. Flutterwing was unlucky; a piece of the doorframe had caught him as he'd alighted into the air to escape. He fell out of the air and landed eerily silently. Claudine was crying through her panic in earnest now, horrified.

Just then, she heard more pops, and shouting. An enraged mesh of English and French filled the air. She spun around, eyes wide, and looked through the hole in the wall to see two groups of wizards arguing furiously at each other. The group who had arrived first were obviously the Aurors from the British Ministry, clothed officially in black. The newly arrived group sported sanguine-red robes; she recognised them immediately to be from Le Forum de la Magie. It seemed that the mass apparition of Aurors from Britain to France without the government's permission had alerted the French Magical Committee and incensed them enough to send a team of their own, to her defence! She thanked the moon and all the stars whose names she knew.

The situation outside was calming down somewhat; it was a political stalemate of sorts. The Aurors were enraged that they could do no action to recover their lost Boy Who Lived, while the French Magi were livid at the lack of formality that the Ministry had displayed, by not only not requesting permission for an arrest within their country, but also for their lack of regard for casualties. The Mage who appeared in charge of the French section (the one who was shouting the loudest) dispatched two younger Magi in a tight-lipped rage, to enter the house and discover the conditions of Claudine and Harry. Upon assuring the young mages that they were indeed unharmed, they were offered a safe haven while the 'authorities sorted this mess out'. Claudine consented immediately, not wanting to remain anywhere near the angry looking wizards outside. As she was helped up and out towards the door, Harry gave another small cry and pointed hurriedly at the ground towards their couch. On top of it, was a very seriously injured, but still alive and faintly moving Flutterwing. Claudine's hand covered her mouth, and she cautiously approached the owl, trying to block out its Inclines of rolling pain. Decidedly, she scooped the owl up into her arms with Harry, and tried to disturb it as little as possible as they and the two Magi exited the cottage, and were Side-Along Apparated away, as the arguments turned fever-pitched once more.

Le Forum de la Magie had somehow managed to come through for Claudine, and there was a patchy, uneasy peace over the current care and guardian placement of Harry. The Ministry was very loud in voicing its judgements over the alienation of the Boy Who Lived from Britain, going so far as to call him the Boy Who Was Stolen in their magical newspapers, and their outrage that his care was being handled by a 'magical creature' and not even a proper member of the magical community. There were howlers daily from the public, but no one could change the fact that the adoption of Harry Potter had already been legalised months prior. After much negotiation, it was decided that every three months the toddler was to be assessed by a neutrally-minded healer on his health, physical and mental development, and any magical growth or occurrences. Heavy restrictions were placed on Claudine too; they were monitored where ever they went, constantly throughout the day and night, shopping trips and et cetera had to be partitioned for, and permission granted. Protections additional to those ancient that were evoked eons ago for the safety of Vieux Chênes and its inhabitants were constructed and placed. But all and all, it was a life, and little Harry was still hers to care for.

A soft coo woke Claudine from her memoirs of the last month and she looked up at Flutterwing. He had survived their attack, although even with all the magical healing available he would never again lift himself up into the skies. She picked up the owl and comforted him with a hand; she would look after him as well, until the end of his days. How could she not? They were both broken creatures.


End file.
